


Day by Day

by VioletBlue



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bigotry & Prejudice, Coming of Age, Empathy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oppression, Physical Abuse, Poverty, Servants, Slavery, well slavery-ish anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 17:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBlue/pseuds/VioletBlue
Summary: Druids are refugees, Merlin has been serving Arthur since childhood, and they both need to figure out what that really means: a brief alternative timeline of the wizard and the king.





	Day by Day

The displaced Druid peoples lived in a camp at the edge of the village. Many of the locals hated them, with their tattoos and their black hair and strange language and tattered clothes. The fear and anger and deep hurt in their icy blue eyes. But Uther would not expel them.

Whispers flew that Morgana, the king’s ward, had Druid blood in her. Her black hair, her blue eyes, her pale skin. The way she stared out her castle window at the small, ramshackle druid settlement below, with its campfires and children’s laughter and the hacking coughs of the old. The flicker in her eyes that was either disgust or longing.

People talked. They said that the king’s fondness for his adopted daughter had softened his mind. But the king’s mind, whatever else it was, was not soft.

“There is a place for Druids in Camelot,” he had announced. “... if they are willing to work for it.” After all, farms needed cheap hands, boots needed polishing, beds needed warming. A royally-mandated system sprung up quickly. Druids could not be educated, or own property. But they could be employed by anyone, even the royal family themselves. Geoffrey dug up old precedents from generations past. This kind of thing had been done before, and often. The Druids would be allowed to stay, to raise their children within the protections of Camelot’s borders. The only price was their hard labor, and of course their obedience to whatever rules the royal powers saw fit to decree.

One of those things was a certain policy - members of the nobility would grant an exceptional druid the honor of becoming a lifelong servant and companion. History told that it was best to begin these matters as soon as possible, to give the servant a chance to grow into his or her role (and never have the chance to imagine a future without their master or mistress). They also recommended an age gap of about four years and, if possible, a difference in physical size. There was no need for confusion about who was in charge, after all.

* * *

When Arthur was sixteen and Merlin was twelve, there was a ceremony. A typical binding ceremony, tying nobility to their lifelong servant. The druid elders had selected one of their adolescents to serve the son of the king. They did not look very honored. Everyone was standing all bunched up, their mouths pinched. Arthur thought he maybe heard a woman crying. 

Arthur’s first thought was that his future lifelong companion Merlin was very small. He had a lot of black hair that was falling into his eyes. His vest was a little too big for him, and had a stain. Arthur was feeling self-conscious enough - he was sweating in his armor and his face had recently begun to turn red and speckled, which he was sure was the first sign of a rare disease, but at least he was bigger than this scrawny druid boy.

The ceremony was long and horrifically boring and after a lot of words were read Geoffrey walked over and placed a long red needle in the fireplace. Arthur perked up. This looked interesting. Then Geoffrey poked the boy Merlin with it, three times on the chest and three times on the back. Merlin didn’t cry, which Arthur thought was a bit impressive, since that needle looked like it hurt. It left behind tiny dots that would heal into tiny black scars, marking Merlin for the rest of life.

After it was over Arthur walked over to his new servant and made a show of towering over him. He was glad he was taller, at least for now.

“So, Merrrlin,” he drawled. “Are you going to make yourself useful and get me out my armor already, or do I have to spell it out for you?” He hoped his father was watching.

Merlin didn’t say anything, but he met Arthur’s eyes steadily. They were that pure and pale icy blue that so unnerved so many of the local villagers. But Arthur wasn’t scared of Merlin’s eyes. And by the looks of it, Merlin wasn’t scared of him.

“Why don’t you spell it out for me,” Merlin said. 

It was going to be a long life sentence with this one. Arthur hid his smile.

* * *

When Arthur was eighteen and Merlin was fourteen, he realized hitting Merlin wasn’t any fun. Merlin never fought back like the other knights he was training with. Arthur knew the boy was reasonably strong, despite his ridiculous noodly arms, because he saw him hauling hay bales and carts of weapons around the castle grounds. But Merlin only tensed and closed his eyes when Arthur swung whatever object was nearest at him. It made sense. Who knows what punishment Uther would dream up for a servant who dared to hit the crown prince. Still, boring.

Then one day, Arthur’s awful diplomatic training got out early and he wandered out towards the stables, content to have a tiny bit of free time for once. As he was about to round the corner when he caught sight of something.

Merlin was sitting on a stool outside the stables. His head was in his hands, his shirt was off. A girl about his age with a scraggly ponytail of black hair was rubbing some kind of ointment on to his back. She was working the muscles, running her fingers over the purple bruises Arthur had left with his shield when Merlin had dropped his shin plates for the millionth time. Below the bruises, Arthur could see the faint red scrape from when he had smacked Merlin with piece of firewood when they were out hunting. 

Merlin had never cried or screamed when Arthur hit him. He had bellowed indignantly a few times, but it was all his fault anyways. If he wasn’t so clumsy, Arthur wouldn’t have to hit him. Right?

But Merlin was here, slumped over, with pain and tiredness in every line of his body. He and the girl spoke in low voices as she rubbed the ointment deeper into the injuries.

Arthur had every right to punish his servant as he saw fit. He knew this. It had been drilled into him since before he could hold a sword.

He never raised a hand to Merlin again.

* * *

When Arthur was nineteen and Merlin was fifteen, they were out riding on a June day with a warm sun and a cool breeze. Away from the court and all his princely duties, which were becoming increasingly complicated and exhausting, Arthur was more at peace than he’d been in a long time. He had long ago stopped trying to pretend to himself that he was happier in the castle with his father, or even on the jousting grounds with his knights, than when it was just him and Merlin and their horses and the road before them. 

They set up a picnic beside a river. Arthur felt lethargic and relaxed, and he let his eyes wander over to Merlin. Arthur had never really paid attention to him when he ate. Merlin had grabbed a chunk of bread and ripped it into smaller pieces, then ate each piece, chewing slowly. He then took half of the bread and wrapped it in his napkin and put it in his bag. He glanced up at Arthur and seemed alarmed to find himself being stared at.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you ever hungry?” Arthur asked, somewhat surprised to hear himself ask the question.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I’m hungry right now. Hence the fact that I’m literally eating.”

“Yes, but do you ever like,” he waved his arms for emphasis “go without food? Are you ever really hungry?”

Merlin just laughed, and looked at Merlin with the strangest expression. It was almost… sympathetic. That was ridiculous. Merlin was just a servant, a druid no less. He could barely read, he nothing about policy or hunting or sparring. So why did Merlin laugh like he knew something Arthur didn’t?

Arthur thought about it all the way home, and then for a few days afterwards when he supposed to be thinking about foreign policy to Mercia. Uther was very upset, and told him to take care of whatever in the world was bothering him so he could bloody focus.

So Arthur started slipping parcels of food into Merlin’s bag to take with him back to the Druid settlement. Merlin didn’t acknowledge this whatsoever, until he caught Arthur in the act. With an apple in one hand and a sausage in the other, Arthur felt ridiculous and oddly guilty and immediately started spluttering. His elocution tutor would be appalled. Merlin cut him off. 

“Thank you,” he muttered. He met Arthur’s eyes and sort of awkwardly clasped his arm, then let go very quickly. Beet red and his eyes on the ground, he grabbed his bag and hurried out of Arthur’s chambers back home.

* * *

When Arthur was twenty and Merlin was sixteen, Arthur walked into the Druid camp for the first time in his life. He was seething.

Merlin was at times an absent-minded servant, but this was just colossal. He had somehow left a bottle of boot polish open and it had spilled on Arthur’s second best breastplate, and ruined it entirely. And since his servant had apparently just waltzed on home without a care in the world to the incredible damage he had done, Arthur was about to set him straight.

But first he had to find him. All of the houses - well, hovels, really - looked fairly similar. Thatched roofs and dirt floors, with smoke coming out of chimneys. Maybe he should do as his father suggested and command Merlin to come live in the castle, as he would eventually have to do.

Merlin had mentioned once that his mother grew flowers outside of their door, and after a bit of wandering Arthur spotted a big hut with a small patch of land in front of it covered with little yellow and white flowers. He walked around for a bit, but couldn’t find any other flowers and it was getting dark, so he headed towards the big house.

He felt a bit strange as he knocked on the wooden door. You are their future king, he reminded himself. He had every right to be here, especially to chastise his ridiculous, more-trouble-than-he’s-worth bonded servant. 

The door swung open. Arthur looked down. A few kids with messy black hair and blue eyes peered through the doorway. They giggled and whispered. 

“I’m looking for Merlin,” Arthur said, trying to sound as regal as he could.

“He’s in the bath,” said the oldest girl. 

“Um, well, can you tell him I summon him?”

The girl stared for a bit. “Okay,” she said at last. She ran off into the darkness of the hut.

There was a pause, in which Arthur could hear lowered voices speaking in an unfamiliar language, and what sounded like splashing, then Merlin appeared in the doorway. His hair was wet and his thin shirt was sticking to his arms. He said something sharply in the strange language to the kids, who were gawking at Arthur, and swatted their heads. They scampered away into the hut, they Arthur could still feel their eyes on him. Then Merlin came out, closed the door firmly, and looked around the streets.

“Come with me right now,” he said, and his voice was so low and urgent that Arthur followed him without question. Merlin ducked behind back the hut into an alleyway and Arthur hurried to keep up.

After a few minutes they were in sight of the castle (and Arthur wasn’t going to admit how disoriented he was right now). Rather, he was about to open his mouth to finally reprimand Merlin about the ruined armor when Merlin spun around and got very close to his face.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“You happened to have ruined my second best breastplate, Merlin,” Arthur said. “And it’s worth more than…”

Merlin cut him off with a harsh laugh. “You came here to talk about armor?” He scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Wow, you are something else, Arthur.” Usually it gave the prince a happy thrill to hear Merlin call him by his name instead of “Sire,” but not tonight. He had never heard such derision in his servant’s voice.

“You clearly have no idea how dangerous it is for you to be here. Do you even know how many of your knights the men down here have put in the infirmary?”

Arthur frowned. What was Merlin talking about? Unless… Sir Leon had shown up to court with a broken arm and a bruised face last week, and his father had forbade him from asking about it. It had made him very curious in the moment, since he couldn’t recall any particularly dangerous assignments Leon might have had. He was just patrolling the village...

“They hate you,” spat Merlin. “And your father. You should not have come here.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. He supposed it was true that there was no reason why the Druids would be great friends with the royal powers. He had sometimes squirmed at the regulations his father put on them in the name of safety: the taxes and curfews and mandatory work for all able-bodied. The lack of food and education and doctors willing to treat Druids. But he had no idea how deeply the anger ran.

“Do you know how much shit I get for serving you?” Merlin asked. “How many times my mother has scrubbed rotten fruit off of our house? Arthur, I care about you, but I swear to you I will not allow you to put my family in danger.” His accent was seeping into his words, something that only happened when he was truly worked up.

“My presence would put you in danger?” Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin didn’t answer right away.

“I’m supposed to hate you, like they do. Even more. I’m bound to you forever. You took away my chance to choose my own future when I was twelve years old. I have the reminder burned into my skin. But I like you, Arthur. You make me laugh. You’re kind. You’re ridiculous and proud and far too obsessed with your bloody armor, but I like you. What does that make me?” 

For once in his life, Arthur didn’t have an answer. They stood there in the deserted street, a last vestiges of light slowly fading. Arthur could barely make out Merlin’s face.

After a while Merlin sighed. “Do you think anyone’s watching? I’m debating whether I should have you hit me, for appearance’s sake. Most people here would rather I be your victim than your friend.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” Arthur said. His head was spinning, putting together a lot of pieces he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His kingdom was not what he thought it was, even right outside the front door of his own castle.

“I know,” Merlin said. He reached over and clasped Arthur’s arm. “Head straight to the castle. Don’t take any shortcuts.”

Arthur nodded, not even noticing the impropriety of taking orders from his servant. He turned and walked and when he passed by the ruined armor on his way to bed, he just kicked it on to a garbage heap.

Was Merlin his victim? Was Merlin his friend? Could someone be both?

* * *

When Arthur was twenty-two and Merlin was eighteen, the coronation ceremony came. A lot of words were read by Geoffrey. It was fairly boring. Instead of the traditional jousting tournament and feast day to celebrate a new king, Arthur went straight to the throne room. He unveiled the legislation he had been working on for years. The curfews and restrictions on Druids were removed. He abolished the horrific working conditions and unfair pay. And he forbade all future practice of lifelong binding contracts of servitude, and nullified all those currently in existence.

“You should go,” he told Merlin, later in his bedroom after he was exhausted from meetings with the Druid elders and disgruntled advisers and worried townspeople. “Go make the future you should have been promised from the start.

Merlin smiled. It was a big, real smile that made his eyes crinkle and transformed his whole face into a sunbeam.

“I’m not going anywhere. There’s something I need to tell you,” Merlin said. His eyes flashed with excitement. No, gold. They definitely flashed with gold.

Arthur took a moment to be supremely grateful for the strange, loyal, hopeful, clumsy friend he absolutely did not deserve. Then he took several moments to be utterly dumbstruck as Merlin conjured flames out of thin air and made them whiz around the room, forming shapes and figures and little flowers that crackled and filled the air. The room grew warm with firelight. Merlin caught Arthur’s eye and burst out laughing at his expression. Then he pulled his friend into a hug, and Arthur buried his face into Merlin’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered. “You saved my people.”

Arthur had his own ideas about who had saved who in their relationship, but he kept them to himself for now. Instead he just squeezed Merlin’s shoulders and swayed with him, listening to the pop and sizzle of the fire creatures dance around them.

* * *

Postscript:

When Arthur was twenty-four and Merlin was twenty, the weary king of Camelot returned from a hunt and was greeted by his most trusted friend and advisor. The advisor, a finely embroidered robe covering the small scars on his chest and back, showed the king his plans for instituting a new agricultural plan to use magical methods to increase crop yield across the kingdom. The king was impressed. The advisor made a quip about being tragically unappreciated. The king rolled his eyes. The advisor, grinning smugly, pulled the king in for a kiss, and the king happily obeyed.


End file.
